Two's Company
by Bundibird
Summary: Dean gets busted for his affectionatism far more often now that there are three of them. 4.18 Spoilers. Limp!Winchesters. Non-ghoul-Adam.


Summary: "Dean gets busted for his affectionatism far more often now that there are three of them. 4.18 Spoilers. Non-ghoul-Adam. Limp!Winchesters."

**AN****: I will return to Narnia eventually. But currently, I'm hanging out for September 10, when I can finally watch (**_**…illegally download…**_**) Supernatural, Season 5. Until then, I'll just play with what I've got.**

**Disclaimer****: One day, I fully intend to own Jensen ****Ackles****. But until that day, I'm just a poor, Jensen-less fan-girl.**

_**OoO**_

_**Two's Company**_

_**OoO**_

Dean gets busted for his affectionatism far more often now that there are three of them.

Before – when it was just him and Sam – the affectionate, big-brotherly, "chick-flick" moments went mostly unnoticed, because it's only when his younger brother is injured or asleep or unconscious that Dean lets his guard down enough for that facet of his personality to be shown.

There's never been an audience before.

But since Adam joined them – since they hunted down the things that killed his mother and packed a bag for him and answered his cautious queries with a blunt "Of course you're coming with us" – almost every single moment of affection has been witnessed.

Now, Adam sits awkwardly on his bed, watching while Dean tends to a feverish, delusional Sam.

Adam takes note of every murmured word of comfort; every brush of gentle over Sam's hot forehead. Takes note of how Dean never leaves Sam's side (he sends Adam to refresh the wet towels and fetch the various medicines) and how Dean's eyes get more and more shadowed as he puts sleep off for just one… more… hour…

And Adam realises that Dean is a lot less tough than he would have people believe.

OoO

It takes time.

In fact – for a while there, Sam thinks Dean might actually _hate_ their most-recently-found-family-member for having the chance to know a more fatherly father than either of the other two had – but really, it wasn't like it was Adam's fault, and anyway, being a big brother is simply who Dean is, and Adam manages to worm his way into Dean's definition of family without even realising.

And now, Sam gets to see just how protective Dean can be of his family.

Because the wendigo is fast and Adam isn't quite fast enough and Adam is flying through the air and hitting a tree and crumpling to its base, not moving a muscle and Sam doesn't even have time to raise his flare gun before Dean is roaring in wordless fury and running _towards_ the wendigo and setting his flare and the wendigo is just standing there growling at the human charging at it, unsure of what to do, because nothing has ever attacked it on its own turf before.

And Dean uses the monster's hesitation to his advantage and aims and fires and hits the beast dead centre, and the thing-that-was-once-a-man screams in agony as it's centuries-old skin burns like old parchment.

Dean doesn't stop to watch the fireworks show.

Before Sam has even taken two limping steps towards the youngest Winchester (Adam's not the only one who found himself as a wendigo play-thing, but at least Sam came out of his encounter with only bruises and a badly twisted ankle) Dean is at the tree, running expert hands all over his littlest brother, trying to ascertain what's broken and where.

There's a gash behind Adam's ear, and it looks like that's the blow that rendered him unconscious.

Sam finally makes it over to the two of them as Dean shucks out of his flannel over-shirt and bundles it up, pressing it against the bleeding wound on Adam's head.

Adam – still unconscious – whimpers in pain as the shirt is pressed against the still-bleeding injury, and Dean responds immediately, reaching down and pulling the youngest Winchester against his chest protectively, keeping a firm pressure on the gash on Adam's head the whole time.

"Hey, little brother," Dean murmurs comfortingly. "It's alright – I got you. I got you."

And Sam wonders when it was, exactly, that Adam was lucky enough to find himself under Dean's particular brand of protection.

OoO

It's the middle of the coldest freaking winter any of them have experienced in a long time and judging by the loaded clouds overhead and the preliminary snowflakes swirling on the howling wind, it's only gonna get colder.

Sam's driving, because Dean's caught some bug that has him snuffling and shivering and trying desperately not to pass out on the passenger seat.

The heat is up on full blast, and every blanket and spare item of clothing has been sent Dean's way but it's not quite enough, and Sam and Adam both nearly cry with relief when they see the motel sign looming in the distance because, damnit, Dean looks _bad_.

So bad that they don't even care (too much) when it turns out that the motel only has one room available; a double, and no, sorry, we don't even have any spare mattresses to give you so one of you can kip on the floor. It's peak season, the chick says. They're lucky to get anything apparently.

Freakin' snow season.

Dean's not so sick that he doesn't notice.

Leaning heavily on Adam, his bloodshot, watery eyes peer about the room, looking for the second bed.

"Aww," he garbles upon realising that there's only one, voice heavily muffled by his blocked sinuses. "Y'r kiddi'g be, righd?"

"Unfortunately, no," Adam replies, wondering who'll get to spend the night on one of the armchairs.

Him, probably.

Freakin' motel room doesn't even have a proper sofa – just two overused-looking red and black armchairs. And as the smallest of the three of them, Adam would be the least uncomfortable in the tiny, not-soft-looking-at-all armchairs.

Turns out he needn't have worried.

Despite being awfully sick, Dean still somehow manages to pull out some big-brother-authority.

"Don' be stoopid," he snaps, barely visible now beneath the mound of blankets in the middle of the bed and talking to Adam, who's in the process of setting up some blankets on the armchair.

Adam looks at his oldest brother in confusion.

" 'S if I'b gonna led yoo sleeb dere," Dean explains crankily. "Yoo'll ged a crick in y'r neck, prob'ly y'r back, an' defnately the arb yoo use 's a p'llow."

"Ah..." Adam says, not quite sure what it is that Dean wants. "So... if not in the chair, where will I sleep?"'

"Dere's room eduff in da bed," Dean grumbles, his eyes sliding closed as his body tries to get him to sleep.

Adam looks at Sam, who's searching through the duffle bags for some sort of medicine to give Dean and is listening in on the conversation.

"But... where will Sam sleep? He'll be more crick-y than I will if _he_ sleeps in the chair."

"Dere's room eduff for _tree,_" Dean emphasises, snuggling down in the blankets in a vain effort to get warm. Adam looks at Sam n wide-eyed concern at the comment, and he hurries over to Dean's side, feeling his forehead.

"Are you alright?" he asks in concern, clearly worried about Dean suggesting the three of them share the bed. Usually the oldest Winchester kicks up a huge storm at even the _concept _of bed sharing.

"Doh!" Dean snaps angrily. "Doh, I'd dot '_otay'_. I'b freakin cold, an' I fee' 'ike crab! Dow would yoo both ged da hell in here so I can ged _warb?"_

Sam and Adam look at each other, and then Sam does that half-nod, half-shrug thing that he does, and Adam takes it to mean, "Er... get in, I guess."

Adam replies with a shrug-nod of his own and hurriedly changes into his sleeping gear before heading over to the bed.

"Well," he says. "This is awkward."

Sam chuckles and Dean scowls. "Freezi'g to deth ober here," he grumbles.

So Adam swallows his pride and tosses back the covers on one side of the bed (Dean shies away from the cold draft), settles in next to his oldest brother and pulls the covers back over them both.

He doesn't even get the chance to get comfortable before Dean is suddenly clinging to him, shivering madly and making some sort of low pitched, keening, decidedly _disturbing_ noise in the back of his throat.

"So _warb_..." Dean murmurs, and if Adam didn't know better he'd've said that Dean is _snuggling_ into him.

But Dean doesn't snuggle.

And Adam – lying there rigidly as his oldest brother not-snuggles into him – knows that Dean would shoot him without hesitation for even _thinking_ the 'S' word.

Sam's fighting a smile as he feeds a reluctant-to-take-drugs-Dean some medicine and watered down apple juice, and then gets changed himself, sliding into the bed on Dean's other side with barely a lift of the covers.

And Dean's making that disturbing keening noise in the back of his throat again as he snuggles (there's no use denying it, Adam realises) down between his two younger brothers, _finally _starting to defrost, and tugging both of them even closer to him as though he's trying to use _them _as blankets, as opposed to the mountain of doonas piled on top of the three of them.

Within minutes, Dean's asleep, light snores rumbling out from his chest.

Adam looks at Sam in utter bewilderment, and Sam laughs quietly at the expression on his younger brother's face.

"He's always like this when he's sick," Sam explains, careful not to jostle Dean, who had nuzzled his head into the crook between Sam's neck and shoulder. "All touchy-feely. Keeps his distance for like a week once he's recovered – as though he's trying to make up for being affectionate or something." Sam chuckles. "Gives me fantastic teasing material, that's for sure."

Adam laughs with him and drops off to sleep ten minutes later, one of Dean's hands tangled in his hair and the other curled around his arm.

Three days later, Dean's fully recovered, Sam's still laughing, and Adam knows that the punishment-for-teasing-older-brother-bruises will take at least a week to fade.

Dean gets busted for his affectionatism far more often now that there's three of them, but he doesn't really mind.

Afterall – two's company, but three's a family.

**OoO**

**AN****: Review, my lovelies! **

**Bundibird**


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